


An Affair to Forget

by RainySpringMorning



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Affairs, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, F/M, Misunderstandings, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainySpringMorning/pseuds/RainySpringMorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annaliese fell in love with and married Vilkas. When things start to look unusual between Vilkas and Iona at Lakeview Manor, Annaliese comes up with a desperate and dangerous plan to make her lover admit the truth. Not everything is what it seems though.</p><p>The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim belongs to Bethesda Game Studios! All original characters and content is mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Affair to Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunnyautumnmorning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyautumnmorning/gifts).



> Annaliese is my mom's character in Skyrim. I've convinced her to never erase her and keep playing her until she reaches level 100 and completes every quest of every DLC. Naturally, we're both absolutely obsessed with the game and we're all in love with Vilkas so... this story is for her. Let me know if you liked it or not! Thanks!

Annaliese could clearly remember the very first day she walked into Jorrvaskr. With a dim outlook on life after the recent affair in Helgen with a chopping block and a fire-breathing lizard, Anna hadn’t known what to expect; the surreal scene of waving fists and foul-tongued exclamations as she ducked out of the way of a gauntleted blow from a short but stocky woman pursuing a dark elf was the last thing she’d expected. A pair of strong hands had grasped her around the waist, yanking her aside before she could be trampled, and she’d found herself gaping stupidly into a pair of kind, winter-ice eyes and a cheeky smile that – at the precise moment between a racial slur from Naajda and the sound of a fist connecting with someone’s jaw – she never knew would make her heart pitter-patter longingly for months afterward.

Now, staring out the window grimly and cracking her knuckles absent-mindedly, Anna watched the twin brother of the dim-witted bear of a man throwing his head back in laughter at a joke coming from none other than Iona, the housecarl from her old house in Riften before she’d put it up for sale.

Many a time had Anna come home to find Vilkas and Iona sitting close together, passing each other secretive looks, or slipping out onto the patio moments apart from one another. While it could have been mere coincidence, Anna proved it more than so when she spotted them – nearly every time too, sharing a few bottles of mead, leaning on the railing and pointing out at something on Lake Ilinalta.

Anna would wander the house, straightening items she’d just straightened, sweeping or wiping spotless surfaces, chopping more than enough food for a whole Stormcloak camp – all the while savouring the _slilch_ and _chahp-chahp_ of the blade. Admittedly, she had imagined Iona’s fingers in place of a carrot easily more than a few times.

Anna hoped Iona’s joke was a bad one. She then, brightening at the evil thoughts coursing with the speed and unstoppable force of the White River, Anna shoved away from the window and clomped up the stairs to her and Vilkas’ room. She hauled the heavy chest out from beneath her bed, unlocked it, and flung the lid open. Her eyes rested on the fabric within and a cruel grin stretched her lips.

…

Day passed and night finally fell.

Vilkas held the door for Iona as they returned inside to the warmth of the blazing hearths, smiling politely as the steward thanked him graciously. Bidding the scarlet-haired warrior goodnight, he took to the stairs and made for his room, expecting to find Anna reading one of her many books or fiddling with her portable alchemy plate she and the College had designed for travelling pupils.

The bed and its neighbouring chair were empty, and the room was oddly dim, except for one flickering candle. It had been burning for a few hours, considering the amount of wax dripping down its holder, onto the hand-carved shelf and to the floor. Grimacing at the sight, Vilkas wondered why Anna would have left a candle burning for so long, when it was she who had put countless hours into literally raising their home from the soil. He considered scraping it off, but guessed that Anna would have a better solution that didn’t involve ugly scrape marks from a dagger. Sighing, Vilkas began to unbuckle his armour, squinting to see in the extreme dark.

His breastplate and bracers were neatly lined up on the dresser at the base of the bed when he heard a light scuffle. Alerted, Vilkas unsheathed his dagger and looked around, listening cautiously. Was someone in the house? And where was Annaliese? The worst scenarios flashed through his mind: Kidnapped by bandits, being held hostage in the cellar by a crazed lunatic… lying dead or dying somewhere in the shadows of the house. Vilkas longed to yell for her but didn’t dare, in case he drew the enemy close enough to him to slit his throat from the shadows. Vilkas might have been a werewolf at some point, but his keen sense of smell and sound has vanished the moment the beast had left his soul.

A low, haunting laugh raised the hairs on the back of his neck and he tilted his chin upwards. A figure cloaked in what appeared to be blood red and black crouched upon one of the beams above the bed, slightly illuminated by the flickering candle. Vilkas could tell the form was female; her booted feet and one gloved palm clutched the beam securely and her other hand rested across her bowed knees. In her free hand, she casually held a wicked, curved dagger.

“Who are you?” Vilkas snarled. “Where is my wife?”

“She’s safe,” the assassin replied chillingly, her voice a musical game, though muffled by the cowl across her face. “For now.”

“What are you doing here? Who are you after?” Vilkas demanded. “Tell me where Annaliese is!”

“Oh, hush, hush, pretty boy,” the assassin crooned. “If I told you everything, it would ruin the fun.”

“W-what? Is this a game to you?”

The assassin chuckled. “You’re certainly making it one for me. Now, I’ll give you answers if you… do a little something in return. Sound fair?”

Vilkas narrowed his eyes, considering the assassin’s offer. She could ask anything, demand anything. It was eerie and frightening, and the woman was terribly suspicious. Vilkas briefly remembered Anna recall meeting an assassin at one point some seasons ago, but she’d never spoken of it again. She had merely said, “It was alarming but I managed to get out of it. The assassin left me a choice and I made the right one.”

Vilkas hoped he would make the right choice as well, and save Annaliese, even if it meant she could lose him. He was willing to give that much, as long as it meant her safety. Iona would care for her in his leave, if it came to such; the warrior was true to her word and on more than one occasion, had spoken very highly and affectionately of her “beloved thane.” Vilkas had seen nothing but dirty looks coming from Annaliese’s end in recent weeks, and Iona always came to him, worried that something was wrong with Anna. “Is she hurt?” she would ask. Vilkas would simply tell her, “She’s fine.”

He didn’t know what was wrong, but he always tried to cheer up Iona. Annaliese needed an unwavering loyalty and kindness surrounding her after all she’d been through, and for Iona to trust her thane, even in the darkest of times. The warrior stated that she did, and aggressively suggested proving it over and over when Vilkas’ words ever sounded like doubt.

Certain that all would be well, considering that the assassin was being honest about Anna being safe, Vilkas nodded and uttered, “Sounds fair. What would you request of me?”

“I have but two questions for you, and a task you must complete without error. Do this right, and all shall be forgotten. Fail,” shadows were cast beneath the assassin’s eyes as her brows angled sharply. “And your wife will not live to see tomorrow’s sunrise. Is this understood?”

Vilkas ground his teeth. “Aye.”

“Good,” the assassin sighed and shifted in one smooth motion so she was seated, one leg dangling and the other reclining on the beam. “Now, the first question: Do you love your wife?”

“Is that some kind of joke?” Vilkas exclaimed. “Of course I do! Why do you think I’m putting up with your ridiculous game?”

The assassin laughed, high and lilting, and the sound sent chills up Vilkas’ spine. It was startlingly familiar but edged with so much… so much darkness that it was vastly unfamiliar at the same time. When the assassin looked down upon him again, her eyes were twinkling. “You are a humorous one, Nord. Say, I like you. Perhaps I will let you alone if you continue to please.”

“You’re pathetic,” Vilkas growled, definitely not amused.

“Am I?” the assassin sounded flattered but her actions said she was appalled. “I’m the one with the advantage. You can do nothing more than follow orders, isn’t that right, _dog?_ ”

Vilkas jerked as though the assassin’s words had been a physical blow. “What… did you call me?”

“Or should I say ‘Mutt’, hmm?”

“You bitch!” Vilkas roared, surely awakening every other soul in the house. Little did he know that they were all induced into a heady sleep. Iona’s room had been filled ahead of time with opium smoke, just to ensure she wouldn’t come running to the rescue. The red-haired Nord would have passed out after a few confused gasps, as she did long before she reached her bed, dropping to the carefully fur-padded floor in full armour.

“Ha!” the assassin jeered. “The dog and the bitch. What a wonderful tale this will be to share around the fire, don’t you think? If you’re not too angry, we would end this on a high note,” she giggled menacingly and whispered, “Unless you don’t want your wife to find out?”

Vilkas went blank at this. Was the assassin suggested that he cheat on Anna? No, he put her words – their exact structure, together in his head. The assassin was _accusing_ him of having done it before. By the gods, he wouldn’t! He never had!

“Are you insane?” he cried. “We… we stood in the Temple of Mara and exchanged our vows. I... we promised ourselves to each other. I love Annaliese with all my heart and…” Vilkas pointed an accusatory finger at the assassin. “And you have no right to question that!”

The assassin didn’t seem to be listening. Instead, she muttered, “A lot of women around this place,” before returning her full attention to Vilkas and loudly demanding, “Don’t you agree?”

“They’re her _friends_!” Vilkas said, exasperated. When would the questions stop? “Iona is her steward and Rayya is her housecarl. They’re here to protect her and serve her…”

“And her husband, should he request it?”

“What? No!” Vilkas cried, horrified.

“But the man of the house has as much authority as his wife. And I assume your wife is the one who tends the house and does the hunting? Gets out a lot, and leaves you here? I had a good look at her before I tied her up beneath in the cellar. She has the build of a hunter and the strength of a warrior in those limbs,” she snickered. “But nothing I couldn’t handle.” Vilkas jerked but the assassin made a threatening sound. She was perched upon the beam again, her head cocked and her fingers waving in a ‘no’ motion. The dagger clutched between her fingers in the same hand looked deadly sharp.

“Let her go. Let me see her,” Vilkas tried to reason. He didn’t want to beg. “Let me know my love is alright.”

“You’ve done nothing but deny the truth, mutt,” she snarled. “Now that our questions are aside, it’s time to prove your honesty.”

“My honesty?” Vilkas echoed.

“You agreed to answering two questions and doing a task. It is time to finish the job.”

“What am I to do?”

The assassin climbed down from the beam and dropped smoothly onto the top of the wardrobe propped up against the wall. The firelight, weak and beginning to die, turned the closest in proximity of her uniform bright red and hazy gray. Vilkas could have lunged at her, but now, finally recognizing the assassin as not just any ordinary assassin but as a _Dark Brotherhood assassin_ , he wasn’t willing to get too close to her.

The Dark Brotherhood had supposedly been wiped out by the Penitus Oculatus, but Vilkas had had no doubts that a few stragglers might have survived the attack and regrouped elsewhere. And the survivors were always the toughest and hardest to kill.

The assassin crouched before him, coiled like a sabre cat prepared to spring and unleash deadly claws on its prey. The muscles of her arms and thighs suggested she was able to move with a lethal grace and take down multiple targets in a flexible whirlwind of weaponry and body. She was built proportionally correct, slender and long, and Vilkas felt a stab of concern. Would his prowess in battle and his strength be enough to evade the deadly blows she was sure to unleash? Vilkas summoned all of his skill and concentration, as the assassin began to explain the task to him.

“I would request that you kiss me, mutt, but I wouldn’t like to kiss lips that have been on the mouths of many,” she sounded slightly revolted. Vilkas opened his mouth to correct her cantankerously, but the assassin spoke over him. “But I have a better idea in mind.”

“And that is?”

“In order to save your wife, you will exchange her life for another’s,” she whispered commandingly. “Make your choice. Make your kill.”

Vilkas was astounded by the assassin’s insane ultimatum. He shook his head and the fabric covering the assassin’s mouth twitched as she either frowned or smirked. “There is no other choice. Choose your target and murder them, and you will be reunited with your wife.”

“I won’t-”

“Too bad.” The assassin shrugged and, in a blur of crimson, Vilkas was driven down onto the floor as the assassin vaulted herself from the wardrobe and onto his chest. His head collided with the wall and he heard a soft sound. A giggle? A whimper? A creak, followed by a thump, and the sound of bouncing wood sounded.

_The ladder!_

Vilkas staggered to his feet, enraged and terrified, and ran to the cellar door. He tried to lift it but found that it was stuck in place. “No!” he yelled, pounding his fists against the wood. “You bitch! Leave her a-”

A bloodcurdling scream suddenly cut his words and Vilkas’ face paled. “Annaliese! _Anna!_ ” he cried. Vilkas, though blinded by red rage, thought quickly and retrieved a battleaxe hung on the wall. Furiously, he swung it down and the blade bit into the wood.

Again and again he swung the axe until the cellar door buckled and he was able to heave it upwards.

“Annaliese! Where, ah! Anna!” Vilkas clattered down the ladder, nearly losing his grip and plummeting into the dark. He stumbled around, feeling for a figure or a wall, _something!_ At last, his leg bumped something soft and he knelt at once, running his hands over the form.In his blindness, he ran his fingers through long hair and over the softness of a robe. A familiar shape. Annaliese.

“Vilkas?” Annaliese’s murmur uttered and Vilkas let out a soft cry, pulling her up and wrapping his arms around her, clutching her tightly. Anna dug her fingers into his tunic and pressed her face into his neck, trembling slightly.

“Oh, Anna. I thought… I thought the assassin came to hurt you. By the gods, you’re alright,” Vilkas groaned and peppered his wife’s face with tender kisses, stroking her hair and reassuring himself with her familiar feel. He tasted blood on his tongue when his lips crossed her forehead, and his heart skipped in alarm.

“Vilkas... I’m so sorry,” her voice was thick with sobs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t… oh, forgive me.”

“Whatever for, love?” Vilkas hugged her close, concerned. “It’s not your fault. She’s gone. She must have used the escape exit behind the forge.” Anna shuddered, then nodded after a moment. Vilkas pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I thought I lost you forever for a moment.”

“You didn’t,” Annaliese whispered back, tangling her hands in Vilkas’ tunic, her white-knuckles and the expression of horrified guilt straining her face completely invisible to her husband in the dark. She felt sick and rotten, and the satisfaction she had begun to feel before her feet hit the ladder suddenly shrank away, leaving behind a feeling of wrongness. Annaliese raised her head and kissed Vilkas’ lips as best as she could, savouring the sound of his tender laugh as she missed and kissed his nose.

She then made a promise, there and then: “I'll never do that to you again.”

…

The campfire burned cheerfully at the edge of the cliff overlooking Markarth and the border into Hammerfell. Annaliese sat alone on a rock, just outside the reach of the flames. Her eyes scanned the horizon, watching the first light of the morning sun poke through the thick gray clouds and spread a peaceful pinkish glow into the periwinkle blue sky. Annaliese sighed and squeezed the red and black fabric between her fingers, then her fingers turned to claws, sinking into the leather.

“Why would you doubt him?” Annaliese whispered to herself, tears rimming her lashes. “You stupid girl.”

Annaliese recalled the week before last, the night she donned the assassin Astrid’s armour and played the part of a path she had never walked. Killing bandits and fighting off monsters was one thing, but murder? No, Anna wouldn’t do it. Her blade found Astrid’s heart in that shack long ago, and the assassin’s blade cut into the hearts of the rest of the Dark Brotherhood assassin’s mere days later.

But the memory of the cool, alluring voice and her final request before her death: “Make your choice. Make your kill.” The words had never removed themselves from Annaliese’s mind and had haunted some of her dreams. A memory so haunting and terrible, and yet Anna had been cruel enough to reproduce it for who else but Vilkas, her husband and the man that loved her dearly. How could she have done such a thing? Why hadn’t she just _seen…_?

When Annaliese had looked upon Vilkas stubbornly – no, _bravely_ , denying her ultimatum, she had seen it cross his face. He had been prepared to tear her apart, so cut her down in an effort to save his wife, when she had been sitting there right in front of him the entire time. Part of her was glad he didn’t recognize the persona she had briefly adopted, and an even bigger part of her wished he had killed her. But what then, when he would have pulled aside her mask and saw _her_ lying dead before him?

So she’d run, locked herself in the cellar and stashed away Astrid’s armour. She’d rubbed ashes all over her skin and cut her forehead with a piece of scrap metal. She’d scrubbed a piece of rope around her wrists until the skin burned from it, close to tearing, and flung it on the floor nearby. She’d had just enough time to tie a robe around her waist before it all caught up to her and she fell to her knees with a scream – not of pain, but of absolute desolation and wretchedness. Her plan had wrapped up near perfectly, and she’d almost given herself away exposed to the dark and Vilkas’ open heart as he gathered her once again, but she’d held on.

Needing to get away, Annaliese packed some gear and left a note, explaining that she was going to try to track the assassin with a few mercenaries she’d met in her travels. She’d left it on the table with breakfast for Vilkas to find not wanting to have him follow, keeping her leave as innocent and cloaked as possible. Annaliese was sure to wish Iona and Rayya a good morning, and she’d felt nothing but a nauseating stab when Iona had worriedly asked Anna if she was alright, if she wanted a healer to visit, if she should run errands and do Anna’s chores for the day. Anna had simply said no and told Iona to spend the day doing something she wanted, and for Rayya to do the same. She’d asked Iona to “get a few guards to watch the entrances for the next fortnight” though, just in case, and to keep up her little play until she’d mounted her horse and set off.

Annaliese ran her thumb over the cut in the leather. “Well done,” Astrid had rasped in her final moments. Would Anna have been able to do the same when it was Vilkas’ blade in her own heart? She doubted it. Dragging her love through the torment she created – it was sick and awful of her.

“What am I becoming?” Annaliese asked the armour.

It gave no answer.

Annaliese vaulted to her feet and dropped the black and red armour onto the campfire. She added the gloves and the boots, and laid the hood on top. She recovered a pouch of troll fat from her knapsack and plunked it onto the embers, then threw more dry scrub on top. The flames blazed as it engulfed the fat and Annaliese stood over it with her sword, poking it, admiring the way the flames ate slowly into the leather.

Last was the dagger, Astrid’s dagger. It looked up at Anna woefully, pleading her to keep it. But she would not. She dropped the metal like it was poison onto the charring remains of the leathers and began packing up her gear.

By the time her tent was rolled and she was picking her way down a path on horseback towards an abandoned Forsworn camp in the rocky hills, nothing but a disastrous memory remained and a daunting future remained, full of shameful secrets and a trust that would one day, soon, have to be regained.

**Author's Note:**

> I will be editing it and picking out spelling errors, location errors, etc. from time to time. It's easier to edit on AO3 than MS Word.


End file.
